Compendium
by LJ9
Summary: Miscellaneous Mericcup one-shots that don't deserve to be their own entries but that I want to post here all the same.
1. Fire Alarm

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'em.

From a post on Tumblr by iggycat: "Someone needs to write a 'the fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the flat next door is standing next to me in his underwear' AU"

* * *

><p>The noise was like a thousand soprano jackhammers encircling her bed. Merida ignored it for as long as she could, knowing in her gut that it was just a false alarm, or someone's late-night munchies gone wrong, but eventually she slid from her bed, plucked her mobile from the nightstand, and slipped a pair of still-tied trainers on. Before she locked the door behind her she grabbed the old bathrobe from its peg. It was probably warm enough out that she wouldn't need it, but it was a hand-me-down from her mum, embroidered with Elinor's initials, and Merida loved it. So she belted it securely over the tank top and shorts that served as pajamas and made her way down the stairs, alarm screeching in her ears as she went.<p>

It was warm enough. She could find it in herself—deep, deep down—to be thankful for that small favor as she pushed the sleeves of the robe up to her elbows. The air smelled faintly of the taco truck that had been parked down the street that evening, and her stomach rumbled in response; there was no scent of smoke in the air, though, and no crackling of flames. She yawned hugely and kneaded her stomach, joining her neighbors where they stood across the street from their very much not on fire building. To distract herself from thoughts of carne asada she propped herself against the corner of the nail salon and took roll of her neighbors through gritty eyes.

The blond twins from upstairs were leaning against each other, both half-asleep and drooling. They didn't look singed, but she'd pin the alarm on them before anyone else. Mrs. Lin clutched a big handbag close, looking around warily; Merida saw a little nose poke out before the woman turned away, head bent over the bag. So _that_ was the source of the phantom yipping she sometimes heard on quiet days. Balancing on the edge of the curb was the kid who was always skateboarding, wearing an oversized shirt as usual, and there was the couple who'd just moved in on the third floor, in matching Superman and Wonder Woman pajamas and looking a little embarrassed, and half hidden in the shadows between the nail salon and the check-cashing place, wearing nothing but a pair of blue boxers, was the guy next door. Henryk, she thought his name was, though on more than one occasion she'd heard the twins bellowing out the window at a Hiccup when he was on the sidewalk below.

Out of the corner of her eye she appraised him. His arms were crossed over his stomach, trying to cover more of himself than they possibly could; she got a glimpse of a firm midsection and a light trail of hair disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. He stood at an angle, hips canted so that his left side fell more deeply into shadow than his right. The whole effect, shadow and shirtlessness, was almost rakish.

She'd always thought he was cute, with his earnest if somewhat distracted air whenever they passed in the hall, and his little smile—hell, she'd admitted as much to her mum, though she'd failed to follow orders and introduce herself like a good neighbor. Now, somehow, with so much more of him revealed, she realized how little about him she knew, and how much she'd like to know. Her hand pressed into her stomach, though it had no effect on the weak fluttering she felt there.

But it was the hair that did her in. His hair was never perfectly coiffed to being with; she remembered seeing him running his hand through it as he sat in the laundry room, a book open in his lap and a pen tapping against his thigh as he waited for a free washing machine. Now it was in an absolute state, sticking up at more angles than even she would have thought possible. It was impossible to perv on someone with adorable hair like that. She bit her lip, just managing to keep the giggle from escaping.

Poor lad, he must've had a worse time with the alarm than she did. There was really no reason for him to be hiding—at least, she saw nothing that he ought to be ashamed of—but he was so obviously uncomfortable. Of their own accord her fingers drummed against her stomach; her eyes fell on them, and the material they thudded over.

She shrugged out of the robe and held it out to him with a soft "Here," able to meet his wide-eyed gaze for only a moment before her eyes flicked away shyly. He looked from her face to the garment and back, and for a moment she thought he'd refuse. Then he reached for it. The worn softness of the fabric slid over her fingertips as he took it; when she looked he was pulling the robe on, and she got one last delicious view of the muscles of his torso at work before they disappeared beneath purple flannel. It fit snugly across the shoulders, but the belt had plenty of slack around his waist. This time she didn't fight the smile, didn't even question the warmth of it.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm Hiccup, by the way."

"Merida." Her smile twitched into a grin as she nodded at the bathrobe. "It suits you."

"Really? I didn't think it was my color." He smoothed down the robe's lapels and shot her a look, one eyebrow cocked in question.

She shook her head. "Nah, it's lovely on you."

The time passed quickly as they talked. A single fire engine arrived to disgorge a few firefighters, who trudged into the building. The alarm finally stopped then, causing Merida to let out a quiet cheer. Soon they were told they could return to their flats; when they reached the seventh floor Hiccup stopped outside her door and removed the robe. "Thanks again," he said as he handed it back to her, that disarming smile on his face and the lazy wheeling of butterflies in her stomach again. Slumped against the door jamb she watched him take the few steps to his own door; he patted his hips, where his pockets would be if he were wearing pants, and she laughed.

She would forever blame the words on sleep deprivation, even when she knew full well that they owed more to the way his shoulders moved and his sleepy little yawn. "If I'd known it was this easy to get you nearly naked I would've pulled the fire alarm ages ago."

He froze with his hand on the doorknob and she had a clear view of the flush creeping up his neck. She felt heat suffuse her cheeks, too, but she didn't take it back. After a pause Hiccup turned to look at her.

"Hey, maybe next time you'll get lucky." He shrugged, and though the little quirk of his lips hinted at self-deprecation, there was a glint in his eyes that was almost keen. Without another word he disappeared into his flat.

Before Merida had the chance to begin to feel disappointed he poked his head back out, and her heart skipped all over again at the sight of his tousled hair. "Or maybe next time…you could just ask."

She grinned. Maybe next time she would.


	2. Wet Ink

"Give me your hand," she commanded, and he wiped his palm against his trousers as surreptitiously as he could manage before extending his arm. She hadn't noticed before how long his fingers were, and there was a throbbing in her chest as she grabbed his hand, smoothing it open with a gentleness that almost frightened her. She concentrated on writing the numbers as legibly as she could; though her handwriting was a mess at the best of times, and the creases and little scars across his skin were unaccountably distracting, she wanted to make sure he could read it.

His lungs had stopped working, but the nerve endings in his hand had gone into overdrive. While her right hand was busy writing, her left was beneath his, holding it steady, her fingertips cool against the back of his hand, her thumb hooked around the base of his to keep it out of the way. He didn't dare move, not when he could feel her breath on his wrist, could smell something more her than the scent of shampoo from her piled-up hair. Now that her attention was elsewhere he could stare freely at the pale curve of her neck, nearly glowing in the dim light.

She clicked the pen and reached one hand up to shove it into her hair, heedless of the possible damage to her up-do. Hiccup felt both relieved and disappointed: once she let go he'd be able to breathe again, but by this point he was starting to think that respiration was overrated. She still hadn't relinquished her hold, though, and now cupped his hand in both of hers.

All she could see from the corner of her eye was the black of his dress shirt and the red of his tie. And to think she'd protested when her roommate had dragged her along to this party. There would've been much less grumbling if she'd known he would be there, and especially if she'd known he would at some point take off his jacket and roll his sleeves up. That sight was worth the struggle getting into this dress had been. She took a breath, licked her lips, and blew softly over the ink on his palm.

Hiccup's knees nearly buckled. Was this the same person as the girl who, on their first weekend there freshman year, had accidentally knocked him down and then hauled him to his feet with a cheerful "Up you get" before dashing back into the soccer game? He'd been slipping all along, feeling the pull of her every time they talked; he hadn't thought she felt the same, not until the girl who was somehow Merida but was wearing that dress had walked up to him and taken his hand to hold like it was made of glass.

She hadn't recognized the feeling for the longest time, not even when the sound of his laugh made her smile, or when he'd held the door for her with a swooping bow and her heart had stumbled over itself. And then one day she'd known, with as much certainty as she knew the way home.

This last part would be the hardest. She looked up, but at his ear, because heaven help her, if she looked him in the eye now, she wouldn't make it. "Call me," she said, though on second thought, it might've been more of a request than an order.

"I will." She bit her lip; her eyes slid to his face and the world spun.

Another moment too long and she dropped her hands. At his smile her stomach dipped, and dipped further still as she watched him make his way through the crowd. She tracked his progress until he disappeared, and she sniffled, and shook her hands helplessly against the tingling in them.

Then there was a buzz against her hip. She ducked into a quiet room to answer, though she still had to raise her voice. "Hello?"

"You probably didn't mean to call this soon," he said, sounding sheepish, "but I couldn't wait."

She was already pushing through the party, ducking toward the door and throwing it open, hurrying to where he stood on the sidewalk, frowning down at his phone until he saw her. This time he was the one who took her hand, and this time there was no reason to let go.


	3. Snow Day

I know this is really uneven and a bit odd, but hopefully some of you will enjoy it nonetheless.

* * *

><p>As Hiccup woke there was a kind of stretched-out ache just below his left knee. That was a good sign, especially punctuated as it was by a gentle throb. He reached blindly for his phone and held his breath. There was the little blink that said a text message awaited, and there were the magic words: Schools closed because of snow. Good old weather-predicting stump. As he turned off his alarm a damp nose pressed against his forearm. After a moment of peering at the door to see if his dad was coming to wake him he murmured, "Okay, bud," and Toothless leapt nimbly up and wriggled into the space between him and the wall. Hiccup snuggled back under the covers and shut his eyes, listening to Toothless' breathing and the hiss of snow outside.<p>

The next time he woke it was to his stomach growling. No wonder he was hungry, he thought with a glance at the clock on the microwave, it was nearly eleven. His dad was at work and the streets had been plowed; the sky was cheery blue and the world looked sugar-glazed. He ate a bowl of cereal staring out the window. By the time he'd brushed his teeth and dressed Toothless was waiting by the back door with an eagerly lolling tongue. "You ready?" Hiccup asked, tucking a leash into his pocket just in case and pulling the trapper hat down firmly over his ears. Toothless huffed. "Then let's go."

The dog bounded ahead toward the trees at the back of their property. They could go to one of the parks, where Hiccup's classmates and friends would almost certainly be gathered, pelting each other with snowballs and sliding down the big hill; but he could also just follow Toothless into the trees, where there was less snow to slow down non-standard legs. They wandered through the woods, their breath hanging mistily in the air. After some ten minutes Toothless gamboled out into the clearing that someone from the town had optimistically declared a park; there were a few benches, a picnic table and a trash bin, but little else. It was usually a good place to go to be alone, since no one really wanted to walk so far out of the way to hang out there. Now it was occupied by the biggest snowman Hiccup had ever seen.

The thing was at least the size of his dad. He stared up at it in astonishment, wondering who had made it and why they'd hauled a ladder all this way, until a figure stepped around the sculpture. It was actually two people, one sitting on the other's shoulders and patting a mittenful of snow onto the snowman's head. A third person followed, dragging a sled mounded with snow. Though their brilliant hair was covered by their hats, he could still recognize the infamous DunBroch triplets, and grinned. The snow giant made sense now. Then his grin faltered. If the boys were there, that meant _she_ might be, too.

And she was, backing into view with hands on her hips as she appraised the snowman. A thick knit cap was pulled low over her ears and her hair spilled out from beneath it. Her lips curved up in satisfaction and her cheeks were flushed with cold. Hiccup's throat went dry. He pursed his lips to whistle for Toothless so they could leave before he somehow embarrassed himself in front of the girl he'd had a crush on for far too long, but he couldn't make any sound come out.

Toothless could, though, and barked a friendly greeting. Four faces turned toward him, and the unstacked triplet scratched the dog's head, saying, "Hello, boy." Hiccup moved reluctantly toward them.

"Hiccup!" Merida called, and his heart tumbled, dragging him another step forward. He was counting on the chilly air to disguise his blush.

"Hi."

The topmost boy slid down his brother's back and she circled them, all petting Toothless, to stand next to Hiccup, both of them facing the snowman. "Well, what do you think?"

He swallowed. "It's impressive. How long did it take?"

"A while." She shrugged nonchalantly. "It was worth it, though."

"Go big or go home, right?" What an idiotic thing to say. He wanted to slam his face into his palm, or the nearest tree.

But she smiled, seeming more pleased than the remark really warranted. "That's the DunBroch way."

"You guys need a picture with your creation, to show your dad. And for scale," he added. If the giant fell over, it might crush someone.

"Yeah!" Merida patted at her pockets and her face fell. "And of course I left my mobile at home."

To distract himself from the way her lower lip was poked out all pink and full, Hiccup scrabbled in the interior pocket of his jacket. "I got it," he said, producing his phone and sliding his thumb across the screen. When she grabbed his arm and squeezed, her face alight, his breath hitched.

Harris—or Hamish—climbed on his brother's shoulders again and the two stood at the snowman's right hand. Hubert (possibly) lay on the ground at the sculpture's base, propped up on one elbow, and Merida leaned gingerly against the snowman's side. "Say snow cones," Hiccup called, and they repeated in chorus with four nearly identical grins.

Once he'd snapped a few pictures Merida joined him to see the results. Before he could angle the screen toward her, she leaned over his arm to have a look. He wished then that it were summer—or not; right now he'd gladly risk hypothermia to feel her hair tickling his skin. She chuckled at the first picture, then leaned closer and screwed up her face. "Ugh, my hair," she groaned. "I'd have brushed it if I'd known I was going to see you today." Merida froze for an instant, and then stepped back. "Or, um, anybody from school."

He turned his attention from the phone to her, cocking his head to study her. "Your hair looks nice," he said, hoping it sounded as earnest as he meant it. "Nice" was an understatement, though, he thought, looking at the way it shone in the sun. To his amazement her cheeks seemed to flush a shade darker.

Did she…?

She _couldn't_—not the way he did…

Hiccup stepped toward her, and her eyes darted across his face, dropping for a split second to his lips. "If you give me your number I'll send these to you."

"Don't you have it?" she asked, voice uncharacteristically high. He shook his head, but scrolled through his contacts to double-check. "Really?"

He glanced up at her through his lashes. "I'd know if I had your phone number." He was rewarded with a breathless little laugh, and bit his lip.

"Give me that," Merida demanded, grabbing the phone. She peeled off one glove and entered her phone number; when she'd finished she shoved it back at him without meeting his gaze.

It wouldn't hurt to test his theory a little more. "Thanks," he said, voice low, and there—that was definitely a shiver. He grinned, though it turned into an "Oof" when she poked him in the ribs.

"You won't be thanking me when this is over."

He didn't get further than "When wha—" before a snowball exploded against his jacket, thrown by one of the boys. Under a hail of snowballs he ran for the nearest cover, which happened to be the trash bin; when he peeked over the top Toothless was chasing after snowballs, barking happily. "Traitor," Hiccup muttered, then knelt to pack some ammunition of his own.

It wasn't a long battle, as hopelessly outmatched as Hiccup was. None of the DunBrochs felt inclined to leave their siblings and join him, so he stayed crouched behind the bin, occasionally popping up to launch a snowball. "This isn't fair!" he cried, laughing, as one hit the edge of the bin and showered him with snow.

"All's fair in love and war," came Merida's smug reply.

After a few more halfhearted lobs Hiccup threw his hands into the air. "I give up." He stood slowly and moved from behind his shelter. The boys were cheering and high-fiving each other, and Merida laughed and whooped with them.

"Well done, lads!" she said. "You've earned your hot cocoa." With that they cheered again and headed out of the clearing, dragging the now-empty sled behind them. Toothless sat at Hiccup's feet and watched them go, ears pricked up.

Hiccup sympathized with the dog. "That was…well, it wasn't actually fun, but…yeah. Thanks for not totally annihilating me when you had the chance." He made a face that she returned. "So I guess we'll get going now."

"I meant you, too," she said quickly, still high with victory, reaching for him, her eyes bright. She caught hold of him again, and he swore that the temperature around them rose before she released his arm. "That is, if you want."

Eventually he managed to say, "Yeah, okay," and they set out on the path. The DunBrochs' house was a little closer to the park than the Haddocks'; by the time they reached the back door the boys were already inside, their boots left in a jumble in the mudroom. At Hiccup's direction Toothless primly shuffled back and forth on the mat and then suffered an inspection of his paws before being allowed into the house.

"I'll be right back," Merida said before disappearing through a doorway, and Hiccup stood awkwardly in the warm stone-floored kitchen. He ran his hands over his head, trying in vain to subdue his hat hair. When Merida came back she had changed into a sweater and leggings. This wasn't just any sweater, though; it was a hunter green patterned thing that must have been her dad's at one point, because it was so huge that it hung almost to her knees, the sleeves were rolled up, and the neckline slid down toward her shoulder.

Well. He certainly knew by now that she didn't believe in fighting fair.

She all but pushed him down onto a stool as she moved around the kitchen, fetching out pots and milk and cocoa powder and vanilla extract and spoons and mugs, all the while telling a story about trying to make breakfast for the triplets once when her mother was sick that ended with her dad having to scrape pancake batter off of the ceiling. His chuckle joined her bright laughter until he was struck dumb with the realization that this was really happening. He was actually sitting in her kitchen, laughing with her while she made hot chocolate. When she noticed his silence she caught him watching her, a thoughtful expression on his face. "What?"

"This isn't what I was expecting."

She raised an eyebrow and pointed the wooden spoon at him. "Oh? And I suppose you've got a better recipe?"

He shook his head. "I meant today. I was just going to take a walk with Toothless and now I'm here, and you…" And you were like a general leading her troops before and now you're teasing me with that shoulder. And I'm not sure that this isn't a dream—it feels like it must be, because I've never been this lucky in my life. Unable to say any of that, he gestured helplessly at her.

For a long moment she stared at him, her face solemn in a way he'd never seen before. Then, incrementally, she smiled. "You, too," she said quietly, patches of pink blooming on her cheeks, before returning her attention to the milk.

With the radar that growing boys have for food, the triplets swarmed into the kitchen the moment the cocoa was ready, and swarmed out again with their mugs full. Their departure left a silence that continued as Merida perched on a stool next to him. They sipped their cocoa together and the sun began to sink outside. He swallowed the dark dregs at the bottom of the cup, waited until he couldn't stall any longer, and then stood.

When he bent to tie his boot, she tugged the hat back on his head. "I'd go with you, but that'd mean taking those three along, too," she sighed.

"No problem. I've got Toothless to look out for me." The dog's tail thumped against the floor where he sat waiting to go out. Hiccup swung the door wide and Toothless went down the steps. He stepped down and then turned back to where she stood in the doorway, goosebumps covering her shoulder. The sky had gone a dull, heavy grey; they might be in for another snow day tomorrow. She looked warm and lively and welcoming and cozy, and he didn't stop to think before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, tasting the chocolate on them. Even better was the way she smiled into the kiss.

His leg was throbbing again as he and Toothless walked home. But all the same he paused in the clearing and looked up into the nearly-dark sky, smiling as snowflakes dropped onto his face.


	4. from tumblr prompt 4

Happy early Valentine's Day!

* * *

><p>There was quite possibly something wrong with Merida's eyes. It wasn't that her normally pale lashes were dark brown (girls weren't such a mystery that he didn't know that mascara was a thing, though he couldn't recall ever seeing Merida wear it to school before); it was that she kept blinking, a lot. It seemed like every time he looked her way she was blinking. Maybe she needed glasses? She wasn't actually squinting the way people did when they couldn't see, though, so he didn't think that was it.<p>

And it wasn't just her eyes. Lately she'd been acting pretty weird in general. She'd been wearing her hair down more often, which was nice, he guessed—who was he trying to kid? it was definitely nice—but it seemed to be bothering her, because she kept tossing her head this way and that like Angus did when something spooked him. The smiles he saw weren't her usual delighted grins, and instead of nudging him in the ribs when they joked she now touched his arm gently, like he was suddenly breakable.

The thought had crossed his mind that maybe she was tired of her tomboyish reputation. Maybe she was just growing up. They were juniors, after all, and they'd heard often enough in gym and health how much more quickly girls matured than boys. Even if that were true—and when it came to Merida he had his doubts—he'd never thought that she'd change so much. They'd spent most of middle school together covered in dirt and scrapes; she'd defended him from anybody who made fun of him for being short or gap-toothed, and he'd comforted her when the popular girls made nasty comments about her hair. She was exciting and feisty and loyal, and he'd always liked her the way she was. Things had been a little strained between them while he was going out with Astrid, but that was just because it meant the two of them couldn't spend as much time together.

Not for the first time he wondered how she'd react if she knew about the way his pulse sped up when she was near—or the way he caught himself staring at her fingers as she took notes, or the way he had to fight the urge to brush his thumb over the small, pale scar on her cheek. It wasn't the way you were supposed to think of your best friend, that was for sure. Right? If she knew she might just laugh it off, or she might withdraw, decide she didn't want to hang out with him anymore. The idea of losing her as a friend made his stomach feel knotted and dense, so he was determined she'd never find out that his feelings were more than platonic.

"Hiccup? Are you comin'?"

He looked up from his doodling to see Merida standing in front of his desk, backpack slung over her shoulder. Their other classmates were filing out of the room. He grabbed his things and stood to follow her out of the room. When he fell into step beside her in the hallway she looked up, smiled coyly, and blinked.

That was it. "Stop," he ordered, coming to a halt himself. She did, turning to him with a puzzled expression; Hiccup leaned in close, peering at her in concern. "Is there something wrong with your eyes? You keep blinking, a lot. Can you see okay?"

He was close enough to feel her sharp breath in. It took a lot of effort to keep his eyes from straying to her mouth. "No. I mean yes. Yes, I can see and no, nothing's _wrong_ with my eyes." It seemed true enough at the moment, as they blazed with indignation. At her reaction he felt relief that was quickly followed by a tingle from the nape of his neck all the way down his back. Thank you, teenage hormones, but now was not the time to get distracted.

"Then what's going on? You're acting…" He struggled to think of a word that encompassed the change in her that also wouldn't make her hit him. Getting hit would almost be welcome at this point, though. "…Different."

There was a pause as she studied her feet and he studied her. Finally she mumbled a response.

"I'm sorry, what?"

The words were quick and subdued and completely unexpected: "I'm flirting with you." Hiccup actually staggered back a step.

"You…what?"

She glanced up with eyes already rolling. "D'you need me to repeat myself again?" Though her tone was tart, her cheeks were pinker than usual.

"But _why_?" Maybe he shouldn't sound quite so shocked; he didn't want her to get the wrong idea.

"Because I want you to like me the way I like you."

"I do like you. Of course I like you," he insisted. It sounded weak in his own ears.

She snorted, crossed her arms low and loose before her. "Sure, in the same way you like Toothless."

"Aw, come on." He grinned suddenly; her eyes darted to his lips and back to his eyes, and he felt wild and bold. "You're _much_ prettier than him."

"Now who's flirting?" Merida asked, smiling tentatively. He chuckled and her smile widened.

"Seriously, though, is that what all this was about? Getting my attention?"

She ducked her head again; Hiccup had never, ever seen her this flustered. "I was just doing what all the articles said, batting my eyelashes and touching you and all that. They say you have to act cute and dumb and helpless to get a guy." She sounded disgusted, at the advice or herself for following it or both.

He considered this for a moment. "And you thought I would want someone dumb and helpless instead of someone strong and independent and amazing?" She looked up, an expression halfway between hopeful and chagrined on her face. More quietly he went on, "You thought you had to change to be someone worth liking? Worth…" He swallowed thickly. "…Wanting? I'm sorry if I made you feel that way." He felt sick at the idea, but she shook her head.

"It wasn't _you_, y'know? I just didn't know what to do. I haven't ever been interested in anyone enough to try."

"Much to Donnie MacGuffin's dismay."

Merida made a face at the mention of her most ardent past admirer. "Maybe I should've gone out with him, just for the practice. But even if I had, I still wouldn't've known how to get you to see me as more than a friend. I don't know what you want."

Her damp eyes searched his face, as if the answer were written there. Part of his brain was still trying to process the idea that she liked him as much as he liked her, but most of him was running on instinct at this point, buzzing with adrenaline and fizzing with hope.

"That's easy," he said. "I want my Merida."

"Oh, _your_ Merida?" she scoffed, but the usual derision wasn't there.

"Yep. Have you seen her anywhere?"

Though he was craning his head to look down the hallway, he was still able to catch her fist before she landed a punch to his shoulder. "There she is!" he crowed, and as she grumbled he took her hand in both of his and gently opened the fist; then he cradled her hand as his thumb slowly stroked over the inside of her wrist, reveling in the new sensation of her skin against his. Merida's lips were parted slightly and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her, but the locker-lined corridor outside of their history classroom was a little lacking in romance. All the same, he turned her hand over and kissed the back of it.

The way she sighed his name made him regret the time they'd wasted before and severely tested his resolve not to kiss her now. He laced their fingers together and started down the hall again, heading toward the cafeteria; they were late, but there might still be tacos left.

His progress was abruptly stopped by a jerk on his arm that sent him stumbling back. When he turned to ask what was up she threw her free arm around his neck, pulling him close and kissing him soundly, impatiently, enthusiastically.

"Yeah," he murmured, grinning, when they broke apart, "that's my Merida."


	5. Wake

Suspended in the delicious state between sleeping and waking, she lay still, unwilling to break the spell. Beyond the bed everything was quiet, the world muffled behind shuttered windows; dawn was gathering strength and would soon burst out with splashes of birdsong and lances of light, but for now all was wool-grey, fleece-bound.

At her back was the gentle swell and ebb of his breathing, gusts tickling through her hair, against her ear. The weight across her waist and curled around her belly was his arm, holding her near enough to be sure of her, loose enough that she'd not feel caged, would not wake frantic and struggling. Instead his scarred arms made for her a cradle, a haven, a nest. In slumber, those enviably long lashes dark on his cheeks and lips slightly parted, his expression was cherubic in spite of the beard he'd begun to grow.

She'd been half convinced he was a changeling when first they'd met. His eyes were too sharp, too meadow-bright; he was too quick, too dexterous, and she'd seen magic before, felt the sizzle of it under her skin and the taste of it beneath her tongue. Were he human as she was, how could he fly?

In time she found that his touch was gentler and warmer than a fair one's, and that his smile was no glamour, and that flight could be learned—or could be earned, or perhaps both. But in his presence she still felt the throb of magic wending and weaving deep through her, tasted it under his tongue salt as the sea and cloud-pure, mountain-brisk.

(_I must be dreaming_, he'd said into her neck, words thrumming against her pulse, fingertips feathering down her spine.

_Open your eyes_, she'd said, _look at me_. When he had his eyes were wide and dark, brows blown high in wonder. Joy and gratitude and adoration comingled had welled up in her then, surged so strong that she'd laughed, or gasped.)

The world outside began to stir and him with it, though he fought. With a muted wordless grumble he burrowed further into her hair until she felt his nose press cool against the nape of her neck, and his hand flexed against her midsection, fingers splaying wide. Lest he surrender to wakefulness she laced her fingers through his, drew his arm more firmly around her, breathed deep the scent of him, of them together; and he relaxed once more, his heart beating against her back, an echo, an anchor.


	6. Stay

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything you recognize, and I only wish I could make money off of my Mericcup fic habit.

A bit of a rush job, to be honest, but I think it's alright.

Written for and with the assistance of the lovely and accommodating magicalbender as we exchanged some headcanons on Tumblr yesterday.

* * *

><p>"You're not the only person who can train wild beasts," she tossed over her shoulder. A hint of annoyance bled into the words.<p>

Unseen by her, Hiccup rolled his eyes. "Never said I was," he muttered under his breath. "Wasn't Angus already trained when you got him?" Merida stopped at the rough fence that ringed the paddock and he joined her. But while she leaned against the top rail, eyes assessing the horses milling and grazing within, he stood straight and stiff, his shoulders tight. They should've gone flying; there was a good wind for it today, one that tousled the curls around Merida's face, and her favorite kind of clouds. They grew darker off over the hills, fading from white to steel to charred iron; there'd be a storm there before too long, though if they were lucky, it wouldn't cross the loch and rain on them. He'd thought she'd leap at the chance for a day of flying, but instead she'd insisted on coming here. When he'd protested she'd accused him of prejudice, and she wasn't entirely wrong. He didn't trust horses: they were too shy, too flighty. "Too slow" was what he'd said, a jab that she couldn't deny but wouldn't agree with; her jaw had clenched for a moment, and that spasm of muscle meant that the fight had just begun.

"Saddle-broken," she admitted, before forging on, "But I taught him jumping and all. I can do this."

Such confidence he couldn't help but admire, even though he thought it foolish. He glanced over at her; her expression was focused, sharp, more like her mother's than she'd appreciate. Her eyes roved over the herd and her teeth caught her bottom lip, and a snatch of song he'd heard in the hall came floating through his mind then, something about cherry lips and tumbling hair and getting caught in the maiden's snare. To quiet the thoughts whispering that getting caught might not be so bad he jerked his eyes away and cast them on the horses.

"See that one?" she said, voice low. He followed her pointing to a spotted mare. Like the rest of the herd, she was smaller than Angus, lighter in color and without the feathery hair that hung over his feet; unlike the others, though, she seemed more curious than anxious, sniffing the air. Merida nudged Hiccup's side. "She'd be perfect for you."

He bumped back against her shoulder. "I have a ride, thanks. And even if I didn't, I'm not sure I'd trust a horse you trained."

"You'll soon change your tune. Wait and see." She ducked between the rails; when Hiccup moved to follow she lifted a hand, motioning for him to stay put. In that unexpectedly lithe way of hers she moved toward the mare, one hand slowly extending as she went, offering the carrot she'd swiped from the kitchens. The mare shuffled sideways but Merida was persistent, dogging her steps. When the horse settled in one place Merida stood patiently, her vegetable bribe not far from wiggling nostrils. Eventually the mare extended her neck and plucked the carrot from Merida's hand; the girl took that opportunity to step in close to the horse, rubbing her nose. Apparently preoccupied with the treat, the mare did not back away, though she did shake her head a little.

Merida turned to Hiccup, the indomitable grin back on her face. "See?" she called, just loudly enough for him to hear. "And you doubted me."

He shook his head, debating whether or not an answer would frighten the horse. Before he made up his mind there was a crack from the sky and a flash of light in the distance; the storm had started, and sheets of rain lashed down on the hills. He heard Merida's voice saying something soothing and then thunder shook the air again, to a chorus of equine shrieks.

When he looked back it was to see her crumple to the ground beneath the startled, shying mare.

* * *

><p>It was hard to believe that the motionless body in her bed, dressed in a spotless linen nightgown and with a blanket arranged with manic precision over that, was Merida. And in a way it wasn't her, because even in normal sleep she had never been so quiet and so small. It wasn't Merida, because Merida was the glint of light on the top of an arrow; she was loud laughter and the smell of the forest and everything fire-colored.<p>

He spent too long watching her chest rise and fall, listening for the sound of her breathing.

What if she never woke up?

A bit more than a day had passed since he'd rushed into the paddock, shouting her name. There'd been no blood, though that was a small comfort; blood meant that you'd eventually find its source and stop the bleeding, stitch the wound back up if necessary. No blood meant that the injury was somewhere inside, somewhere not easily cured. When she hadn't responded he'd bellowed for Toothless. Any progress Merida had made with the horse was likely undone by the Night Fury rocketing toward the field, sending the herd charging as far from the dragon as they could get. She'd been in his arms before Toothless touched down, and they were aloft again and streaking toward Castle DunBroch in record time. For the duration of the short flight Hiccup had demanded that she wake up and answer him, but though her pulse jumped beneath the fingers he pressed to her neck she didn't stir or speak.

The amount of shouting that ensued on their arrival hadn't really made up for it. He'd nearly stumbled over the threshold, yelling for help. The look on the queen's face, the way she froze and the color dropped from her face when she saw them would stick with him for a long time. Someone had taken Merida from him, someone else had rushed off for the physic, a third someone had taken a tight hold of his shoulder and demanded to know what had happened. It was such a short story, and he hadn't even seen the most important part.

It seemed like hours had passed before they'd let him see her. Queen Elinor sat next to the bed, her back to the door, the line of her spine for once not ramrod-straight; she was bowed forward, something he feared was defeat dragging her posture down. It all felt so wrong: the queen in despair, the room too quiet for one with Merida in it, the heavy dread twisting through his gut like the coils of Jörmungandr. He'd stepped sideways and held his breath as she came into view, and held his breath until he'd watched her inhale and exhale, so slowly.

In time the queen had raised her hands to her face, straightened bit by bit, and finally stood. Hiccup had felt the same guilt flood him that had when he and Merida had been scolded by her mother for their mischief when they were kids; he felt young again, and small, and helpless, and at the pallor of the queen's face and the red rimming her eyes the feelings grew stronger. There had been no reproach, though he'd almost wished for one; but all Elinor had said was "Stay with her"—as if he'd leave, as if he'd dare to take his eyes from her again—and gone to find the king. He'd stayed, and stared, and not moved until he'd fallen asleep and woken in his own room, only to hurry back to her again.

What if she never woke up?

No. He shook his head before the thought had time to make itself at home. Eventually she would wake. She had to, if only because she would think this a very silly way to die, and unfitting for a horsewoman like her.

But…what if she woke up and didn't remember him? Her family? It was not uncommon with head injuries; there was something about the mind that didn't like being shaken or struck. More than one Hooligan had incidents they couldn't quite remember, past events somehow shrouded from the rest of their minds. And while cuts and stabs and wounds that could be seen could be treated easily, those hidden inside were more difficult, more dangerous.

The idea of losing her sent an icy spike of pain through him. It was selfish, but he couldn't bear the thought that she might look past him the way others had. If she forgot him and all of the days they'd spent together, all of their fights and scrapes and lessons and jokes, he would be just another admirer of DunBroch's beautiful princess. Without their past together, there would be no reason for her to want him around anymore. The possibility, and his helplessness against it, galled him.

Or maybe he was not as helpless as he felt. Forgetting was a kind of death, but stories carried life.

"Remember…" The word did its best to choke him; he dropped his forehead into one hand as the fingers of his other splayed against the blanket, desperate for something to cling to. They brushed the cool skin of her hand and without a thought he slipped them around her palm. He took a breath and cleared his throat. When he began again it was quieter, steadier. "Remember the time when we were seven and we climbed the biggest, oldest apple tree in the orchard? Everything was fine—and you were right, the apples at the top were the best—but then your dress got caught on a branch. And not just a little snagged, really very securely caught. Neither of us had a knife so we couldn't cut you out, and you wanted to leave the dress there, but didn't want to get all scraped up climbing down in just your underthings…" Whether or not she heard he continued the story, laughing under his breath at their youthful misadventure and squeezing her hand when despair threatened to take his voice again.

* * *

><p>The next night King Fergus tried halfheartedly to chase him off to his own bed, but couldn't muster the necessary intimidation to make a convincing job of it. Hiccup dozed in a chair by Merida's sickbed until just after midnight, when a faint, scratching cough broke the silence of the room. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, but as he leaned forward they rolled to him. She blinked, and his heart stopped for an instant.<p>

"Hiccup," she breathed, then coughed again, frowning. "Can I have some water?"

"You're really awake?" He bolted from the chair and leaned over her, watching her eyes adjust to the glow from the embers in the hearth. "Oh, thank Eir, you're awake." He kissed her forehead and then filled a cup with shaking hands. With an arm slipped behind her he helped her sit up and sip from the cup; when she'd had enough he eased her back down.

And then the dam burst. "You're an idiot, did you know that? You're pigheaded and stupid, and the next time you decide to do something reckless I may not be there to help you. I may just let you go ahead with your next dumb idea all by yourself. How would you like that?"

Her smile was innocent, though weak, and his heart leapt to see it. "What if the next reckless, pigheaded idea is yours?"

"I'm serious, Merida."

"Of course you are, Hiccup."

He slumped into the chair again; the spike of energy borne of relief was waning, leaving a deep weariness. Absently he took her hand, and rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he admitted, "I was so scared. Your parents were…" He paused, then continued honestly, "Your dad is a mess, your mom is worried sick but she's still holding everything together—"

There was a rusty chuckle. "Like always."

"I should get them. They should know you're awake." He half rose from his seat, but she tugged him down again.

"They'll know in the morning." In the dim light she looked down the bed, and his gaze followed hers to where their hands were joined. Over the long hours of waiting it had become a habit to take her hand; now he wondered if he ought to let go. The answer came when her grip tightened. "I felt this," she whispered, and he shivered. "I felt your hand, and I knew it was you."

"How?" he couldn't help asking.

"Partly because of the calluses." She twisted her hand to run her fingertips over the raised, rough spots, and his fingers curled toward her palm, greedily seeking more of her touch. "Dad has them, too, but his hands are bigger. But I knew because I know you, and because I wanted it to be you." He could make out two bright spots of color in her cheeks as their eyes met. It wasn't fever, he was sure of that.

"I felt it, and I knew I wasn't alone. Thank you."

Despite the dark he too blushed. "You're welcome," he mumbled. "Are you, um…are you sure you don't want me to get your parents?"

She shook her head gently, eyes sliding shut. "We'll see them in the morning. Stay, please." She curled onto her side and readjusted the blanket, their hands clasped between them. He watched her breathing, deep and even and healthy, until his head dropped and he joined her in sleep.


	7. Match

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own anything.

* * *

><p>"'F you don't shut your mouth a Terror'll land in it."<p>

At Gobber's mild suggestion two things happen: Merida's mouth snaps shut only just before Hiccup glances over from across the hall. He's too far to have heard the words themselves, but the smith's insinuation is enough to make her squirm. She glances away from the young chief for a second before her eyes are drawn back to him, as they always are. His gaze is still on her, eyes slightly narrowed, dexterous fingers tapping against his arm; she feels she's being measured, assessed. Heat moves steadily up the back of her neck and she hopes he'll look away before it reaches her face, hopes he'll find something in her to linger over.

It's a hollow wooden crash and the yowling of a young Gronckle outside that breaks their attention. Hiccup strides toward the door, purposeful but unworried. It's the walk of a man confident in what he's doing, who needn't think twice before acting on his instinct. He's said, while wearing a self-deprecating smile, that he understands dragons better than people, and based on what she's seen in her weeks on Berk she cannot disagree. He doesn't understand why heads turn after him like sunflowers following the light; he doesn't understand the effect when he squares his shoulders, lifts his chin, and speaks so that all can hear. He doesn't understand his own power, let alone the extent of his knee-weakening charm. He doesn't know how undone she is by all of it—he _can't_ know, lest she lose her bargaining power.

And he cannot know how near she is to losing her heart.

There must be something in her expression that makes Gobber's eyebrows cease their mocking waggling. "I've known that boy since before he was born. I know him better than his own..." He trails off, face sagging for a moment; then he clears his throat and continues, "I know him better than most on this island. So you can believe me when I say…" He drains the last of his mug-hand, stands, and leans to murmur in her ear. "I think our chief has met his match."

Though Gobber is already lumbering away and doesn't see it, Merida smiles wanly. She appreciates his sentiments—Gobber has been a welcome friend here, somehow reminding her of home, though as uncivilized as a Viking ought to be—but doesn't believe them, not really. The match of the chief? Perhaps in rank, but in no other way. Not when she is so impatient and quick-tempered, and he so self-sacrificing and so very clever. The first visit to his workshop made her head swim, with the books full of his notes and designs, the litter of things he'd made, the way he'd unceremoniously pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, the quick, sure sound of his voice describing planned improvements for the village; that had been the beginning of her fall.

Outside heavy-laden clouds are scudding down from the north. The air is thick and still. Already sweat is prickling at the back of her neck; she huffs and lifts her hair, lets it fall over one shoulder and down her front. Though rain is coming her feet take her away from her lodging and toward the sea. She's fascinated by it; maybe in watching the waves the lump in her stomach will fade away. Maybe she can drown it in salt spray and raindrops. For a while it works as lightning flickers faintly near the horizon and the air starts to move, smelling deliciously wet; she finds herself smiling and feeling light. Then she hears her name and the weight returns. When she realizes who is calling the burden doubles.

"I've been looking for you." At his open, friendly expression her stomach leaps, then sinks.

"Have you?" she mumbles, returning her attention to the sea. "Why?"

"Well, um, I wan—that is, I…needed to see y—" His bumbling ends with a quiet groan. She hears him inhale deeply and ignores the gooseflesh that creeps up her arms. He begins anew, more steadily. "You left pretty quickly after dinner. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

He looks more ill-at-ease than when she'd last seen him, rubbing his palms down the seams of his breeches. Some mischievous spirit of the coming storm fills her. "Why?" she asks again.

"Why?" His confusion is adorable, and her pulse spikes. "Why what?"

"Why make sure I'm okay?" She pushes her hair back over her shoulder again. His eyes flash to the long line of her neck, then back to her face.

Long lashes fan against his cheeks as he blinks. "I wouldn't be a very good host if I didn't." The curve of his lips into a smile sharper and warmer than hospitality requires belies the claim. He bows slightly at the waist. "I have to do my duty to our honored guest."

She turns away again to hide her sneer. "If duty is all that it is, you've done it well." Her tone is clipped, the dismissal in it clear. Hurt is welling up inside of her, and anger; she breathes in noisily through her nose, waiting for him to leave, to prove her feelings unrequited. Only when she is left in the company of the wide water and the storm will she let her weakness show.

Stubborn thing that he is—and it must be stubbornness, as it's not stupidity—he stays. There is a long moment of quiet between them, one in which she feels him watching, though her eyes are shut against the wind. At its end he asks, quietly, nearer than she'd thought, "But if the duty was just a way to talk to you again?"

Her eyes snap open, her head turns to him. His jaw is set, his hair blows in the breeze; she feels like prey, pinned by the bright, keen eyes of a hunting hawk. "Why?" she wonders a third time. "I'm no great conversationalist, in case you haven't noticed. Not clever enough to keep up with you, at any rate."

"Keep up with me?" He scoffs. "Merida, you run circles around me. I don't know which way is up when I'm talking to you." The tips of his ears have gone pink, she notices, and wonders if the flush will spread. "Do you know how hard it's been trying to pay attention to the negotiations when all I want is to hear your opinions on everything?"

She snorts and crosses her arms tightly over her stomach. "You'd think less of me if you heard them."

"I doubt it. You're so lively, and well-educated, and you actually know what you're doing while I have no idea if it's not about dragons or making stuff, and you're beautiful—" and there, his cheeks are red.

"I'm afraid you're wrong." She steps closer, looking up at him, letting her arms drop. "I'm nothing but lost." Fear stills her tongue, stops her from adding more, that's she's lost because of him, in him. Her heart beats painfully hard, though at a word from him it will stop. She stares up at him, hoping that in her eyes he'll read what she cannot say, only just beginning to hope that she may not be alone in it.

The clouds pile up overhead and his eyes seem darker than ever, skipping from her parted lips to her eyes. "I don't mind being lost if you don't," he murmurs, voice so low she shivers. Between them, his hand finds hers, fingers fitting together like they'd been designed for each other. "We can find our way together."

The sky opens, rain pours down, and she laughs.


End file.
